


f l  o u r i s h

by Kyrastri



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abstract, F/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyrastri/pseuds/Kyrastri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The garden slowly flourishes, but those within wither.</p>
            </blockquote>





	f l  o u r i s h

* * *

_"_ _Because light and dark are intertwined, my dear."_

* * *

 

 _The morning dew is mixed with blood_ , she notes dully as she took a turn about her own small garden, her steps muffled by the soft grass. In her hands is a small chess piece made of glass and her thumb brushes against the cold surface. She clutches the piece close to her, turning around and walking away from confines of the garden.

 _Such a pretty cage._ She sighs and wanders aimlessly, her gaze fixed on the sky in-front of her. She can feel the smooth path below her feet, but her mind is far away. _Of course, the bird within the cage has its wings clipped regardless._

 _I wonder if you are still here, darling._ She jolts back to her surroundings, pondering over what she had just thought. _Why did I think that? Surely…_ She looks about, curious. As she suspects, she finds herself back under the large tree with leaves of all colours possible. The glass table, the elegant black chairs; they were still there, waiting for her.

She shakes her head solemnly, approaching the glass table with a particular fondness that she had rarely shown. She reaches the table, her hand outstretched over the vacant square where the clear queen would have been. She lets the chess piece hang over the spot briefly before retracting her arm and spinning on her heel, directing herself away from the tree.

 _He said that it could have lasted forever, but no._ She circles the base of the tree once, her hand running along the trunk of the tree as the colours in the leaves are reflected in her eyes. _That light could mix with dark._

 _Of course, I know better._ She strolls towards the footpath, walking into another direction. Her hands loosely curl as she did so, the chess piece still held in her fingers.

_I am light. He was my shadow._

_Eventually, the shadow must fall._

* * *

 

A rectangular room, split in half with one sheet of thick glass in between. The only proof of each other’s existence other than their appearances through the glass is the small squares cut into its surface. They occur frequently, in a pattern resembling a checkerboard, but instead of white, there is nothing, and instead of black, there is glass.

The room is further split through colour; one half is white, the other black.

This has been our reality since the beginning of time.

* * *

 

 _The garden of orange was always too vibrant for my tastes._ Her nose crinkles in slight disgust at the brightness of the garden. _Nevertheless, I must grow to love it. It must be possible if he managed to._

Her gaze wanders again; away from the hot colours and towards the small chest tucked away in the corner of the square garden. _I wonder if it’s still in there._ She moves towards the chest, the box no bigger than it had to be. It was always the same.

She reaches to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. _Locked._ She sighs and sets the box back down, exiting the garden with an air of indifference.

_Yes, how strange indeed._

_A shadow that loved the light._

* * *

 

For the first few centuries, we didn’t speak at all.

We were both curious as to the areas around us, the pictures along the walls illustrating the story of the years before ours. We learnt the tale of time and all that beheld it.

But eventually, there were only so many times that we could study the walls. So we turned towards the checker-glass wall and gazed into the other side, trying to make out the other side.

But despite the tales of light and dark that warned against such behaviour, we turned to each other to try and learn of each other’s tales.

Even though we were supposedly sworn enemies, all I saw was a boy the same age as I with a curiosity no more satisfied than mine was.

Ah, such cherished innocence.

* * *

 

 _The garden of white is the one I favour._ She leans down, her hands brushing aside the snow. The ice gives away to a smaller box made of glass instead of wood. With shaking hands, she lifts the box cautiously out of the small, rectangular hole that had been made from the compacted snow and carefully wipes away the watery ice that had stuck to the box. The clasp falls open and she opens the lid, picking up the key sitting on a bed of satin.

After replacing the lid and setting the box safely back into its home, she gently scrapes snow onto the top of the box before standing up and walking out of the garden. _I wonder why I still hide the glass box._

_No-one’s here to take it away from me._

* * *

 

Because of the holes within the glass wall, we were able to confirm each other’s existences through touch. It gave grounds to pass things though as well, but there wasn’t anything that we could have given each other regardless.

Despite not remembering anything except for the room after time, I somehow felt familiar with the black haired boy on the other side of the glass wall. It was a strange feeling that I couldn’t really describe at the time.

I realised one day, that the walls weren’t actually walls, but tapestries. To be honest, it was actually an accident. A string had fallen loose and when I had curiously pulled it, it gave way and I caught a glimpse of the outside world. Endless, endless blue.

The tales on the tapestry also detailed how it was created itself. I remember studying the images on how it was painstakingly weaved, from a single string to a tall wall of life.

I showed the boy how to weave the string to form large ribbons, as that was all I could do. We decided that we would try to escape by creating a rope from everything.

So for the next few millennia, we were content. Content with only the promise of a freedom that was only told through string to keep us company.

Beside ourselves, of course.

* * *

 

She strolls slowly, despite her impatience to open the box. _I never was the most patient of people._ She laughs, despite there being no-one to hear. _Everything’s as I remember it._

She re-enters the garden of orange, once again averting her gaze from the vibrant flowers. She approaches the chest and while kneeling down, moves forwards with the key. A soft click could be heard when she twists the piece of metal, much to her satisfaction.

She lifts open the heavy lid of the chest, curious to peer inside even though she had seen the chest countless times before.

 _There is hardly ever change amongst these flowers._ Her gaze lowers to the object sitting above a thick bed of silk.

White silk stained with the blood of a black-haired boy.

_Nothing changes paradise, after all._

* * *

 

Only when we finished unravelling everything to form ribbon, it was too late.

We realised that we would never be able to be free.

For beyond the tapestry that we had so carefully wound up, lay nothing but silver bars that were always cold to the touch.

I could hear the beings that placed us here laughing at us.

I took the end of the ribbon and threaded it through the glass. I told him that if we couldn’t escape, we would at least die no less than two children in a room of no colour.

The day we defied them was our last.

* * *

 

 _The garden of blue is peculiar._ Her fingers trail on the leaves and the petals of the flowers that grow. Having left the chest in the garden of orange, her other arm keeping still absentmindedly.

 _Curiosity. The thing that brought us together, was it not?_ Her arm retracts from the plants and she stops, looking out into the distance thoughtfully before looking down and laughing.

Her right hand pats the head softly as she walks, caressing the black locks before she sets it down on the table.

She turns around, feeling a little relieved to have remembered. As she walks away, the head tilts slightly away from the stump of the rotting corpse slumped on the table.

She strokes the petals as she walks out, leaving blood streaks on the blue roses.

_Curiosity killed everything, didn’t it?_


End file.
